Sonnet I: It Comes

If ever I could spare a minute’s time,
I might enjoy a moment of the day.
A place where I might be forgotten, pray,
That I might run from here, or even climb

A mountain far away. Not Reason, Rhyme
Nor Deities could sway, nor could one pay
The world’s unyielding, universal clay,
That time should not be stolen. Such a crime

Continues on, beholden to no man,
With cruel impunity–continues on
Its prurience, as only Satan can–
And gives the poet grist to mill upon:
To sow, and reap, and dream of sweet release,
And then to sleep, and dream of death, and peace.

This sonnet is part of a short sequence: click here to read it all:


3 responses to “Sonnet I: It Comes

  1. Once again you give word to my inner thoughts ~ and so beautifully.

    I read and wonder that the day to day world has the power to touch
    you at all…ringed around as you are with such words and music.

    After all the years that I have loved you and watched you intently, I still
    cannot fathom how you manage to pour out such poetry. You will laugh to hear
    me say it but you always were less afraid than I.

    I love you.
    And I admire you and honor your work.


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